


Between Hope And Fear

by Purpleyin



Series: Hartmon fanworks [8]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cisco Ramon Whump, Covid-19 Related, Getting Together, Hartley Rathaway is Not Okay, Heavy Angst, M/M, Medical Procedures, Near Death Experiences, Pre-Slash, Quarantine-inspired, Tumblr: lockdownfest, Using fanfic as a coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleyin/pseuds/Purpleyin
Summary: During the pandemic, Hartley tries to help. He tries to keep going and do whatever he can, from a distance. Everything is going as well as can be expected, until his world comes crashing down with one phone call from Caitlin Snow.
Relationships: Cisco Ramon/Hartley Rathaway
Series: Hartmon fanworks [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1302293
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	Between Hope And Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [SmolSpideyBoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmolSpideyBoi/pseuds/SmolSpideyBoi) and [Makedon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makedon/pseuds/Makedon) for betareading this.
> 
> I make no claims as to medical accuracy other than I tried my best. Also, I have made no attempt to fit it in canon - it's just a contemporary AU where Hartley helps Team Flash regularly and Cisco is single.

Barry is the first to catch COVID-19. Of course, his body blitzes through it in hours rather than days. Barry is fine but that's what puts stop to Hartley working from S.T.A.R. Labs for the foreseeable future. Caitlin won't have it when he's in a high-risk group. Hartley makes one last sneaky trip there, to collect his laptop and notebooks...and to snag one of the original respirators from _his_ suit that Cisco redesigned into the Flash's suit.

The respirator doesn't look so out of place with his Piper getup and the nice thing about sonic blasts is he can do decent directed crowd control where required, although the suggestive powers of his new pipe are proving more useful. He'd feel worse about using it on people if it weren't for the fact they were ignoring sound advice in favor of selfishness.

At least out in Central City he can keep his distance _and_ still be doing something. He keeps helping...because. Because anything else wouldn't feel right. Driven by the same gnawing in his gut as when he'd realized the particle accelerator had a design flaw. Hartley never would have pegged himself a hero, but here he is, rounding up looters and muggers taking advantage of the pandemic panic.

At the end of the day, there's no real end to it all. There's still more to do, but he has to stop, take the time to sleep. To look after himself for a while. He has to call Caitlin back too.

When she answers, her voice wavers on the two simple words she says. All she can get out at first.

“It's Cisco.”

This morning Cisco had been benched with a mild fever. Quarantined at S.T.A.R. Labs. Still working on a cure he and Caitlin hoped could be engineered somehow using Barry's blood. When Hartley had done the morning video call to the Cortex, Cisco'd been opening mini-breaches to grab items he needed from elsewhere, causing Caitlin to fuss about contamination. Cisco had been grumpy about being stuck behind the plexiglass of the quarantined medbay area but he'd been laughing, hopeful.

Now their ventilator, last used on a comatose Barry, is in use once more. Caitlin says sorry, repeats it - _sorry, I'm so sorry_ – and he doesn't know why. He doesn't blame her for this; he knows from first-hand experience how hard she fights for the team, what an amazing doctor she is.

“Hartley, I'm so sorry. You can't be with him.”

“But -”

That's about the time he mentally curses Eobard Thawne for the nth time. And slams his hand against his bookcase harder than is smart to.

His hand throbs and for a moment it's a good distraction, something he had control over. But he doesn't have control, not really. Life continually throws curveballs at him and he can't stop it, can't lessen the impact when it's not just him affected.

Because without powers he wouldn't need these damn invasive implants to keep the sounds he hears at a sane level. Without powers, he wouldn't be taking immunosuppressants to stop his body rejecting the implants. Without powers, he'd be able to see Cisco.

Caitlin hadn't been keen on him putting himself at risk going out there to help the public. She also couldn't stop him doing that, whereas Cisco is in her domain and what she says goes.

“I can wear-”

“No. Whatever you're going to say, the answer is no.”

“I could wear a hazmat suit.”

From the pause in the conversation, he thinks she's seriously considering it – they probably have some hazmat suits somewhere in a storeroom after all - but the answer is still no. By the way she won't budge on anyone else's safety, Hartley thinks she's taking it hard that Cisco worsened under her care, blaming herself. The backlash is she won't accept _any_ risk to him. Caitlin tested positive too, though she's asymptomatic, so they're treating the whole of the facility as a no-go for the next three days minimum for anyone who isn't already infected.

The best she can do is taking a phone through to Cisco. They video call before that, a visual confirmation that despite all the wires and tubes coming out of him, Cisco is alive, breathing – proven by the steady rise and fall of his chest. She ends the video call and phones him from Cisco's cell, Hartley accepting it in a heartbeat. He waits patiently from the other side of the call until Caitlin puts it in place and informs him he can talk to Cisco now. Caitlin leaves the phone propped up next to Cisco's ear as she does her routine tests and checks, the background noises reminding Hartley this isn't entirely private. That makes him self-conscious even though there's really no need to be because he's not saying anything he wouldn't normally if he were there in person.

Cisco can't speak anyhow, which leaves the conversation entirely to him. Hartley doesn't know what to say. _Hi, I think you're my best friend and I'm scared of losing you._ Or, _Hey Cisco, I know now's not a good time but I just wanted you to know I'm in love with you._ With the looks Caitlin gave him on the video call, as she calmly talked him through Cisco's condition and what to expect, he suspects Caitlin has figured it out.

“Cisquito, I'm here with you.”

It's sappy, he doesn't usually let himself be sappy.

He isn't used to not getting a reply. Their interactions tend to be snappy, a verbal battle and he misses that suddenly.

“We're all thinking of you.”

 _Weaksauce comment,_ he thinks, channeling Cisco's voice there. _Do better._ That criticism is more like himself. But he can't bring himself to say, _**I'm** _ _thinking of you._

He doesn't have anything to talk about other than what he's been doing all day. What Cisco couldn't.

Hartley doesn't know how much Cisco will hear, if he's conscious enough to follow the conversation, but Hartley does it anyway. Just in case it helps. Any way he can help he'll take. He starts talking about nothing of consequence. The language he and Jerrie invited together when he was younger. The plot to his beloved indie PC game no one else seems to like.

The last thing he remembers talking about was some amusing ASL missigning blunders from the course he's been assisting at the shelter he volunteers at. Surprisingly, he wakes up in his bed – not on his couch - face pressed to a pillow with slobber on.

He sits up abruptly, quilt slipping off his body, and Barry blips into his apartment like he was waiting for Hartley to wake up. He's still wearing his Piper gear, which includes vitals sensors, so that explains that oddity. It's kind of nice knowing they're looking out for him back at S.T.A.R. Labs, even if a larger part of him wants their focus on Cisco and only Cisco right now.

“How long?” Hartley asks, not bothering with formality, certain Barry will understand his concern for Cisco.

“You got about 5 hours sleep. No change with Cisco.” He can hear the weariness creeping into Barry's tone there but it quickly disappears as he puts up a cheerier facade. He's not sure if that's for his sake or part of Barry's own attempt to remain hopeful. “You really should go back to bed. Maybe change into something more comfortable? I would have done that for you but people keep pointing out I really should ask permission first and you were asleep so...”

“Can I talk to him again?"

Barry seems to be weighing up what to say, taking longer than Hartley would expect. Eventually he comes out with, “How about you eat breakfast and take a shower first? I think I can sell Caitlin on that. She won't be happy, she was hoping you'd sleep longer, but it might be good enough to get her to relent on strict doctors orders.”

So Hartley does as agreed and then settles back into bed with his phone. Barry leaves and his phone rings. Hartley talks. And talks. About anything and everything. Part of it is just to keep himself occupied, but he hopes Cisco likes the company, when he's aware of it. If it's annoying then Hartley can dream of Cisco stubbornly getting better just to tell him to shut up.

Every now and then he has to take a break – sometimes prompted by Caitlin over the phone. To drink, eat, go to the bathroom. He apologizes each time. Tells Cisco what he's doing. The silence is overwhelming then, even though Hartley doesn't get true silence with what his ears pick-up from the rest of the building – it's not his building or anything in it he currently cares about. What bothers him is not being able to hear the rhythmic sounds of the ventilator, his one reassurance Cisco is okay. Normally with his powers, with being in person, he'd have so much more to set his mind at ease. Now there's only so much the phone's microphone relays to him and he has to strain to make it out when he's got it to his ear.

He talks until he starts to feel sleepy. He knows he should go to bed, he's bone-tired, throat raw and running out of things to say, mind not able to focus. Just... he doesn't want the conversation, one-sided as it is, to be over yet. So he sings, light and low as if it's a lullaby.

“ _I trust my soul, my only goal - Is just to be.“_

He hasn't sung this song for years. Lyrics memorized off-by-heart from repeated watching of the film. Forever bittersweet to his brain because of how he had to hide his watching RENT from his parents.

“ _There's only now, there's only here – G -give in... to love or live in fear.”_

He falters a little on the start of the line as it hits him how much he took it to heart. How this song, pushed down inside him for so long, was instrumental in his finally coming out. He has to take a deep breath before he continues.

“ _No other road, No other way - No day but today.“_

He wishes he could live up to that sentiment again and admit what he has wanted to tell Cisco for well over a year now. The fear is there – a yawning chasm of the unknown inside him he can't bring himself to leap into. Even though he feels the lyrics acutely, knows now could be all they have, the fear drowns out any courage. But he sings, he finishes the song. It has to be good enough for today.

* * *

He wakes up to his phone vibrating. The notification of 5 missed calls spikes his adrenaline and he's shaking as he swipes to take the video call. Caitlin's beaming face greeting him brings an instant sense of relief – he barely hears what she says. She swivels the phone around and Cisco comes into view, sat up in bed with lots of pillows supporting him. He waves weakly accompanied by a slight smile and then Caitlin switches back to herself, letting Hartley know Cisco can't speak well yet.

The bad news is they're all still infectious, except Barry, and Caitlin updates Hartley with the latest on the outbreak. Followed by a lecture on why he should let Barry handle things and stay home until the worst is over. Hartley is so exhausted he agrees, he hasn't got any fight left in him. He says goodbye almost on autopilot and, with the tremor in his hands, he very carefully sets the phone down.

That's when he breaks down. He'd been prepared for the worst and now it's not coming but the feeling won't go away. Now it's them being worried about him. It's more than he can take emotionally and finally it bubbles up to the surface in thankful sobs.

* * *

A week down the line, Hartley gets his first visitor in self-isolation who isn't the already immune Barry. Cisco, who isn't contagious anymore, breaches into his living room for a prearranged coffee get together. Caitlin is hoping to test okay tomorrow so that she can come over for dinner – Hartley's made some vague plans for what to cook with his more restricted than usual supplies – but honestly, he's been looking forward to this a lot more. Caitlin didn't almost die last week. It's all he can do to not rush over to Cisco and hug him, both because of that and because he could do with some comfort right now with his mind too preoccupied with the news of late.

Luckily, Cisco seems keen on getting a hug, opening his arms wide in anticipation. Hartley springs up into action at the suggestion and it feels so good to wrap his arms around Cisco, to feel him real, warm, undeniably breathing. Maybe now he's had that confirmation his nightmares might let up some. When Cisco pulls back it's hard to let go.

As Cisco follows him into the kitchen to get plates, he notices Cisco appears a little out of breath at first, changing to walk at a slower pace because of it. Between that and the bruising on his neck and hands where the IV's went in, Hartley's worry for him grows once more. At first glance he'd been a little alarmed, sure, but he'd assumed how Cisco looked was mostly a side effect of the bruises making him look worse than he is. However, taking a better look he realizes Cisco is actually paler than usual, another sign that Cisco isn't back to normal just yet. He must've been staring because Cisco closes the cupboard door harder than necessary after getting the mugs out.

“I feel worse than I look – a hearty thank you to my trusty conditioner - and I _feel_ like I had a game of chess I don't remember.”

Figures that Cisco would trot out an old school trope to slip in a chess reference where he could. The problem with it is Hartley really doesn't need reminding how close to death Cisco came. In light of recent events, it simply cuts too close for Hartley's tastes, though Cisco has every right to say it. If gallows humor is what he needs to cope then that's fine, except... Hartley has to look away, busy himself with getting the creamer and sugar ready while the coffee maker brews. It takes a lot of blinking before he trusts himself to turn back to Cisco. Meanwhile, Cisco uncharacteristically doesn't fill the gap in conversation.

“Coffee's done,” Hartley says without much enthusiasm. He's about to pour out the first cup for Cisco when he feels a hand on his arm stopping him.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” he asks without thinking.

“Being there,” Cisco says firmly as if it's obvious, and ridiculous he has to explain. Cisco's earnest eyes bore into his and Hartley finds himself blinking more rapidly again, trying not to show how much it's affecting him to hear. He really needs to get a handle on himself.

“I wasn't really.”

“You were there. In spirit. So what if you couldn't be literally by my bed?”

“How much of it do you remember?” Hartley finds himself saying, not sure why it matters to him.

“Not much,” Cisco's gaze drifts off to the side as he struggles to recall. “Things here and there. Probably have a lot of Hartley Rathaway info stored away in my subconscious that'll crop up when I least expect it.”

“Sorry.”

“ _Sorry_? Are you kidding me? Geez, Hart, will you just let me gorram thank you!”

Same as it ever does, his heart skips a beat at Cisco using that nickname. He doesn't want it to though. He can't help but think everything would be easier if he could hold Cisco at a distance and not care. There are only so many losses he can take and fear reigns, the specter of what could have been looming over him in all the what-ifs of his dreams.

“Ok. Sure. You're welcome,” he says dismissively as he finishes serving their drinks and passes a coffee over to Cisco to sweeten however he likes.

He knows his reply doesn't hit the mark of authentic-sounding, but Cisco appears to accept it anyhow. They both stand, leaning back against the counter, sipping their coffees. Cisco avoids looking his way and there's a distracted expression on his face similar to when he was trying to remember what he'd heard, leading to Hartley presuming he's lost in thought. Life's given them both a lot to process in the last couple of weeks so it's not a surprise.

Hartley resolves to let Cisco be and keep his thoughts to himself. This silence is almost nice, companionable, apart from the tenseness neither of them has escaped just yet following Cisco's illness. Hartley is just starting to relax when Cisco returns to the subject he was hoping would be dropped.

“I remember you singing to me. It was... beautiful. If I hadn't made it, at least I'd have had that as a last memory.”

Cisco is trying to make light of it but that doesn't work for him. Hartley can't take it, knowing there's sincerity there too, including the implication of how scared Cisco was at the time. He has to avert his gaze again, pretend he needs to turn his attention to the counter in order to add more creamer, glad his hands aren't shaking right now despite his feelings letting loose internally. The tears that threatened to come before now overspill and he hastily wipes them off his cheeks. That action, unfortunately, gives too much away even though he's not facing Cisco, because the next thing he knows, Cisco is pulling him around and into another hug.

At least in his embrace, Cisco can't see the tears and Hartley feels marginally less embarrassed that Cisco is comforting him and not the other way around that would make vastly more sense. His tears don't let up no matter how much he wishes they would, instead turning into angry hiccuping sobs. Cisco pulls him closer, rubs his back. Hartley's basically crying into Cisco's hair at this point.

“I'm probably not helping your hair maintain its luster with all this saltwater.”

“You get a free pass, this one time,” Cisco teases lightly, continuing to rub Hartley's back as he gets the tears out.

It takes him several minutes before he can get back any semblance of composure. Reluctantly he pulls back from Cisco, having taken more comfort than he feels he deserves. He doesn't know how he can make it up to Cisco when this was meant to be a casual coffee meet-up and he unburdened his bottled up feelings all over the guy. Hartley feels he at least owes Cisco an explanation. In truth, maybe it's more of an excuse to push past the fear that's held him back for so long. Not entirely, but enough that he'll be closer to love than to fear.

“You mean a lot to me, Cisco.”

That's as close as he can come to admitting his feelings. He can't say love, doesn't know if that would be returned, but what he says is real; finally given voice, no matter how it's taken.

Cisco hesitates in replying. Hartley can't tell if he's stunned or just unable to find the right words. Watching Cisco unable to wrap his mind around what to say is foreign to him.

“What? No quippy come back?” is his own attempt to inject some levity into the situation.

At that Cisco simply pulls him back in for an unexpected second hug and this time it feels like it's more for his comfort than Hartley's. When Cisco speaks, it's quiet and for his ears only. Intimate with how closely it's spoken while he's grasped tight.

“I'm okay, Hart. I'm getting better. I know isolation's tough but I'm gonna be there for you – distractions, daily puns, on the comms annoying you 24/7 with commentary, impromptu visits to frankly _epic_ solitary spots around the world,” Cisco withdraws a touch to look him in the eyes, “– whatever you need. I'll be there for you, like you were for me. We'll get through this.”

Hartley's mouth goes dry with Cisco looking at him like that, seeing the determined set to the tenseness that lines his face. He wants to believe there is more to the offer, that Cisco knew what he really meant when he told him how he felt. He isn't certain though.

“I don't want you to be alone, Hart. And...you don't have to be. We're all here for you.”

 _We're_. Is Cisco hedging his bets using words like that, like Hartley had been too or is it a straight-forward offer of help? The desire to know one way or the other burns in him almost as strongly as his desire for Cisco and that's been kindled on a slow burn of many months. So he jumps, metaphorically. If it's foolish, unwanted, it won't be too hard to pass off as a bad choice made in exceptional circumstances.

He isn't fast about moving in to kiss Cisco, sign-posting it enough he hopes. Cisco doesn't respond immediately though and that makes his stomach lurch at the panic it induces. But then Cisco is sliding his lips over Hartley's and he quickly gets lost in the sensation. His world zeroes down to his mouth against Cisco's and the fast but regular beat of Cisco's heart he can hear amplified by their contact.

When they eventually come up for air, Cisco is looking flushed from his attentions. He seems reassuringly more alive than ever and it makes Hartley's heart swoop with joy. _He's okay. He's really okay._

“Wow! You've been holding out on me. If I'd known you were that good a kisser _I'd_ have made the first move.”

“Why didn't you?” Hartley asks, still a little out of breath from making out, but instantly curious what had held Cisco back. Not that he'd had any idea Cisco had felt like that. Hoped, dreamed, yes but nothing more. He'd never seen Cisco as the type of person who would shy away from what he wanted. But he supposed people would say the same about him, in areas other than love.

“I didn't want to risk one of the best friendships I've ever had. I needed stability, with everything else that changes in our crazy-ass lives.”

“From my experience, things have a habit of changing on you, no matter what you intend.”

“Didn't expect to catch feelings for your former rival and one-time arch-enemy, huh?” Cisco asks, looking plenty self-satisfied about it as he does. Hartley's pretty sure he has a matching grin to mirror Cisco's. He's also threading his fingers through Hartley's hair, which renders Hartley temporarily speechless.

“In a word, no,” he replies once he gets his wits back. Unwrapping Cisco's arm from his shoulder, he gives Cisco's hand one last affectionate squeeze before he entirely detaches himself in aid of finding his tin of baked goods he'd all but forgotten about. “But I think you'll find I was _Barry's_ nemesis that one-time before I reformed. Our dalliance was more of a subplot. ”

Whatever Cisco was about to say is dropped at the opening of the tin, along with his mouth. Hartley is feeling appropriately smug at the reveal of his perfected chocolate and matcha macarons. He's had _a lot_ of time for baking lately.

“They're your favorite, right?”

“The only way they could be more my favorite would be if you iced mini Yoda heads on them.”

Hartley files that idea away for the future, because the only thing that would be better than Cisco's face as he shoves a macaron into his mouth wholeheartedly, might be Cisco knowing he remembered that comment and realizing Hartley's willing to do anything to make his dreams – however small - come true. Because with Cisco returning his feelings he's already made one of Hartley's dreams come true.

And he's equally sure he'll never forget how grateful he is he got the chance – that _they_ got the chance – to take that leap into the unknown that's somehow so much less frightening with Cisco by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> The song Hartley sings is "No day but today" from RENT (2005) - [here's a link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CVTXCQypV7E) to Anthony Rapp singing a live acoustic version of it. Sadly there's no covers of Andy Mientus singing that song but he's sung other Jonathan Larson songs as part of The Jonathan Larson Project so I hoped that would be a nice touch for the fic. I don't know how old Hartley is meant to be but assuming he's loosely around 30 like other characters, I figured a teenage Hartley might have been into the film.
> 
> Also rebloggable on tumblr [here](https://purpleyin.tumblr.com/post/613700531702136832/between-hope-and-fear-purpleyin-the-flash-tv)


End file.
